Page 164 of Men in Shorts

“It’s too early to put them in. At this point Charlotte wants to play our strongest sub, which is Craig.”

Liam looked over to the touchline to see the substitute deep midfielder ripping off his neon-yellow practice pinny. Craig had done an admirable job filling in during Fergus’s hamstring injury last season.

Still, Liam had rarely played fullback. He didn’t relish getting catapulted out of his comfort zone in the middle of a match.

Now on her feet, Katie was hobbling off the pitch with the aid of the physios.

“Sorry,” Mitchell called after her, still wearing a sneer. “Didn’t realize you were so fragile.”

Shona turned to him, her face like thunder. Robert stepped between them in time to stop her strangling Mitchell with his own tongue.

Over in the stand, the Rainbow Regiment began to chant, “You’re just a shite Jack Sparrow!” in Mitchell’s direction, a dig at his prodigious beard and ponytail.

“Okay, quick review.” Fergus put his arm round Liam’s shoulders. “When defending at fullback, you don’t want to go to ground with one of your glorious tackles. Stay on your feet and let the attacker make the first move. Your main job is to stop those crosses coming in.”

“Right.” Despite the fact Liam was shifting only one position over, he needed a whole new mindset.

Liam’s expression must have revealed his doubt, because Fergus patted his back and said, “You can do this. I’ll be backing you up.” The captain glanced at Robert, who was watching them with concern. “And he’ll survive without you. He’s done it before when you’ve missed a match, and vice versa.”

Liam nodded, then moved off into position. It seemed daft to split up him and Robert when their partnership formed the backbone of the Warriors defense—which the Rainbow Regiment had cheekily termed “The Beast With Two Center-Backs”—but every other option would leave the team even weaker.

Sensing the Warriors’ new vulnerability, Barrowfield proceeded to batter them on the left side to test Liam’s speed and canniness. So he had no choice but to settle into position and cast aside his fear of fucking up.

For now, at least.

* * *

By halftime,the sun had decided to grace the pitch with its presence. Its winter-pale rays weren’t much help to Robert, who felt more than a wee bit burned out.

Fergus was playing farther forward at center-back than Liam usually did. This adjustment helped counter Barrowfield’s high press, but it also made Robert more than ever the defender of last resort. The burden was quickly wearing him down—not that he would ever let on.

He waited for Liam so they could walk to the bench together. “You were brilliant over there, Mister Fullback.” It was the truth: A couple of crosses had made it into the box, but Liam had hassled the winger enough that the high swooping passes could be easily headed away by Robert or Fergus.

“Thanks.” Liam examined the front of his own black shorts and violet-and-white-striped top. “I miss delivering my famous sliding tackles, but I also fancy not being covered in mud.”

Out of nowhere, Mitchell barged between them. “You lads are together, right?” the striker asked. “So which one is the woman?”

Before Robert could mock Mitchell’s lack of originality, Liam answered: “If you mean which of us gets gloriously penetrated by the other, that would be both of us.”

“Not at the same time,” Robert added. “Our pricks can’t reach round like elephant trunks.”

“Yours comes pretty close, mate,” Liam said.

Mitchell put his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to know.”

“But you asked,” Liam said. “Proportionally, it’s probably sixty-forty Robert’s cock in my arse, if you want specifics.”

“I don’t!” The striker began to jog off toward his bench.

“But it’s not just about frequency,” Robert said, trotting behind him. “When measuring the total volume of joy, I get the lion’s share.”

Liam gave him a smile. “Ah, love, that’s pure kind of you.”

“This is fucking sexual harassment,” the striker said. “I’m telling the ref.”

“Good luck with that!” Liam sang as he and Robert turned for their own bench. “I know we should ignore pricks like him, but I’m dead sick of having to prove we’re as good as everyone else.”

Just then, Charlotte called Liam over to confer with Fergus and herself, no doubt to discuss tactics for the second half. Robert never minded being left out of these talks—he embraced his role as the brawn of the back line and was happy to let others do the strategic thinking.

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